Celebrity Harvest
by Moonchild10
Summary: As strange forces continue to tear Kong apart, the Gorillaz have no choice but to face their own demons if they are to make it out alive, and learn just how high is the price of a single human soul.
1. The Calm Before the Storm

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Most of you know that one of the abandoned ideas for the upcoming Gorillaz movie was entitled "Celebrity Harvest". This is my version of that film. It'll end up stretching out pretty long in the end, but I'm hoping it'll be worth it.**

**Feel free to flame or whatever you want: I have plenty of free time. Reviews are much appreciated.**

**This chapter is more exposition than anything, the rest won't be as slow.**

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"Murdoc! Come in Murdoc!" the silence, the dust, all were stifling, reaching in like a pair of hands to suffocate her and press across her face in a thick, constricting blanket. She could barely see in the darkness before her face, could scarcely define one button from another on the simple walkie talkie she clenched so tightly in her hands. "Murdoc! We have to get out of here!"

But only silence, the silence of these past few days, met her in reply. Her desperation and panic had decreased so much since she had first woken up from her strange, trancelike state. How long it had been, she could not be sure. Time had developed itself into a gentle, incomprehensible curve of minutes, with no factors to distinguish one from the next. Inexplicably, she had not felt hunger, thirst, or any other basic human warning signs, since she had awoken. Only the need for sleep, which was great and frequent, and she obliged willingly, with nothing else to do but call frantically to Murdoc on her walkie talkie, the only connection to life outside of this darkness. It was her anchor to sanity, to order, and she held it with clenched hands.

"Murdoc! It is not safe here! Please…" she released the speak button for a moment, nearly giving up, but then trying again, her voice raising to a shout as the frustration permeated her body as though it were made of sponge. "Murdoc! Can you hear me!?"

The monotony of it all was broken only by inhuman groans, which came from somewhere distant. They came infrequently, pained, filled with such anguish and sorrow that Noodle sometimes had to shield her ears from them. She knew, from brief times of reasoning while not locked into her usual tasks, that she was in Kong; its familiar smells wafted in through cracks, smells of somewhere below the car park, maybe the bunker, dust and soil lending their mark to the dull air.

The more time she spent in this darkness, in the tiny space that could not have been more than five feet long and three feet high, the more her hope fizzled slowly toward nothing, burning, a log on a fire nearly spent and turning to cinders. It was clear to her now that it was a crate, the familiar feeling of the rough wooden planks it was made of met her hands now, solid and sturdy. She was far too lethargic to break them, too lethargic to do anything but try desperately to reach the outside world with her walkie talkie in between her long and frequent periods of sleep that could have lasted minutes, hours, or days. Seconds were indistinguishable from hours. Time was no factor in her sleep. She slept when sleep closed in. It was her master and companion, curling up with her to spend most of her time, keeping her its prisoner and friend all in one breath. There was no difference anymore.

She did not know how much time had passed when finally she heard a sound apart from the creaks of pipes and the moans and her own, self-contained sounds. It was the sound of footsteps, of heels on concrete, and the sound of it restored life to her she sat up, her head bumping the top of the crate and forcing her back down, and called out, not caring that whoever it was could be dangerous, not caring about much of anything anymore. It was a sound of reality, a sound of something away from this existence. The footsteps stopped, changed direction, and drew nearer.

"Noodle?" the voice, nicotine-stained and familiar, reached her and filled her with relief.

"Murdoc!" she called loudly, shifting in the dust. "I'm here! I am in the crate!"

"Sweet Satan," the bassist hissed. "Hold on… I'll be back."

The footsteps faded, and when they returned, they were moving much faster. She felt a thud as something hit the crate, and then a splintering noise filled her ears as the top exploded into a mess of large shards, falling away to reveal Murdoc standing above her, holding a crowbar and looking ominous, Cortez cawing in indignant protest at all the fuss from his shoulder.

"Well, the top didn' come off as neatly as I'd hoped." he reached down and grabbed her hand to help her out of the crate. "I thought I might find you down here, poppet." he brushed dust from her. "How long has it been?"

Noodle shook her head, unable even to make a rough estimate. She saw that they stood in the dank confines of the bunker, the dim lights flickering gloomily above them.

"Well how did you get down here, then?" Murdoc's mismatched eyes darted uneasily around the cavernous room as he spoke. Noodle shook her head again, and he sighed. "Well, come on then. Let's get you upstairs."

It felt glorious to be in her own room, despite the stark, undecorated wall that had only been recently put up to replace the one that had mysteriously fallen, a reminder of the increasingly dire state of Kong. Hair wet from the showers, she slipped out of the filthy striped shirt and black shorts she had been wearing since the day of the El Mañana video shoot. They were caked with dust and dirt and reeked of the smoke from the fire. It felt good to get out of them, like slipping out of an unwanted skin, some version of herself that she would rather forget. And finally, she was fully away from the confusion of the time she had spent at the video shoot and then in the crate. The smell, though, of neglect, as though no one had inhabited the building for years, still permeated the safe haven of her bedroom.

She found Murdoc in the kitchen, fussing around with food on the counter. She took at seat at the table and glanced out the sliding glass doors onto the patio. The world outside was gloomy, and on the horizon, dark, menacing clouds hung still and announced their presence. A storm was coming.

"How long was I in that crate?" Noodle asked Murdoc, the words a whip against the silent air.

Murdoc, his back to her, chopped tomatoes hastily. "Three months…" he turned to her. "I can't believe you're still alive…" he shook his head. "Got one of those transmissions ye sent out, a while ago… started looking for ye. I'm not sure if you've been in there the whole time since the shoot… but if ye have, it's three months." he turned back to the counter. "Do ye want mayonnaise on your sandwich?"

"Yes." Noodle sat back in her chair, watching the clouds move threateningly across the horizon. _Three months_. How had she possibly survived, without food or water, for three months? None of it made sense to her, and she couldn't help but think that something not entirely normal was going on here. It was eerie, sending a chill up the back of her neck, and she stared out the glass doors at those clouds, ominously looming somewhere not too far away.

Murdoc interrupted her thoughts by sliding a plate with a sandwich across the table to her, and then sitting down opposite her, the tips of this long fingers together. "Eat up then, poppet."

She had not realized that her hunger had returned in full force, and she fell upon the food as delicately as she could, struggling to control the almost animalistic hunger that had worked its way into her belly. She finished the sandwich, got herself a glass of milk and drained it, and then ate some crackers in a whirlwind of hunger before settling down and meeting Murdoc's considering gaze.

"Where are 2D and Russel?" she asked him. Murdoc blinked.

"Still on vacation… like I thought you were until I got that bloody transmission. Sweet Satan, how were you down there for three months without _anything_?" Noodle shrugged. She had no answer. She also knew that by 'on vacation', Murdoc meant that the band was broken up yet again, probably because of her desire to get away from rock star life and most likely a monumental row between Murdoc and 2D. It was Murdoc's way of making it sound better than it was, which he did only for her benefit and never for anyone else.

"On vacation? Did you get into a fight with 2D?" she knew that sometimes the severity of Murdoc and 2D's fights could get very extreme under certain circumstances, often becoming physical, and it had been a fight between the two that had broken the band up the first time.

"Well… yeah, but that's not the point. It's that… well… yeah, they're 'on vacation'… but Nood… something is happening. Something fucked up."

"What is it?" Noodle asked. Murdoc shook his head, and then stood up and paced, his cape fanning out behind him.

"The house… Kong… something is happening with it. I can feel… something. It's not right. It feels even more deranged than usual."

Noodle had sensed the same thing while in the crate, and found herself nodding. As Murdoc continued to talk, she glanced up over the top of his head out the windows.

The storm was getting closer.


	2. 2D

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything…**

**Thanks to all the people who favorited/ story alerted/ reviewed! I really appreciate it!**

_**Midnight in the chamber of glass**_

_**I bear witness to the silence that suffocates me**_

_**Where's the place to rest my head**_

_**When the bleeding finds closure **_

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"Stuart! Oi! Stuart! Wake up!"

2D's head abruptly snapped up and his eyes swiveled upward, giving him a view of Marcello -clad in a pale pink silk shirt that violently offset his bright purple Mohawk-, who did not look happy in the least with him.

"Oh… wot? Sorry." 2D gave the man his full attention. He had been leaning against the wall in a daze for an inexplicable amount of time, a habit that he thought he had gotten the better of long ago, and he could still feel the dull haze the corners of his consciousness as he stared into the opaque lenses of Marcello's sunglasses.

"The afterparty is in twenty minutes. Am I giving you a ride, or are you going to fly there?" the fashion show that evening had been quite a turnout, and as inexperienced as 2D still was in modeling, he had managed to enjoy himself by pretending he was on stage performing in a concert to put himself at ease. The afterparty promised to be quite an event as well, and after the row 2D had had with his live-in girlfriend, Michelle, he didn't expect her to still _be_ his girlfriend, and was fully prepared to pick up some lovely bird for a change. He hadn't engaged in much casual sex since he'd quit Gorillaz, and it sounded like just what he needed tonight.

"I'll just drive m'self, thanks. I didn't take the train today."

"Suit yourself, then. I'm off. See you there?"

2D shrugged casually and muttered a reply just before Marcello was off. Flighty and flamboyantly gay, Marcello, 2D's designer, was the life of parties, and was eager to get started, whereas 2D was somewhat reluctant as he grabbed his jacket from that back of a chair. The party scene just wasn't the same these days, struggling to fit in with crowds of people he didn't know, who wouldn't adore him because of his music. It was unnerving after years of fame, and 2D was beginning to think that he didn't belong in the real world. But he sure as hell didn't want to go crawling back to Murdoc… that bastard would be expecting it. 2D could just imagine his sneer. No, he'd tough it out, and show Murdoc that while he was nothing without 2D, 2D was perfectly capable without Murdoc. He grabbed the bag with his normal clothes and hurried out the door of the studio, back into life.

**XXX**

The party was exactly as he had expected it. Crowds of people, extravagantly dressed and gaudily bejeweled like peacocks, strutting in a manner so much like the garish birds that 2D had to suppress a giggle. It had always been a problem of his, comparing everything to something else in his head. It was why his lyrics were filled with heavy metaphors that made no sense to anyone else, completely missing the literal sense of the song. He loved it.

It wasn't hard to stay on the edge of the crowd and lurk inconspicuously. Though he didn't exactly blend with the crowd, he had long ago mastered an uncanny ability to be a slouched, unappealing shadow when he wanted to, and tonight was one of those times. It was refreshing not to be constantly stalked by adoring female fangirls (these swanky parties were rarely a breeding ground for Gorillaz fans), and he wove his way deftly along the edges of the milling crowd, managing to stay discreet until he heard a familiar voice from somewhere to his immediate left.

"Stuart! Hey hello good evening. There's some people from Buttons magazine that want to a word with you. They thought you were…what was the word… inspiring tonight, and they may want to do a spread of you," Marcello said, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing him delicately by the elbow to keep him from moving any further. "Maybe in some custom undies, it sounded like. I'll go and get them… stay put." and he swept away as suddenly as he had appeared, leaving 2D by the wall with a feeling of revulsion at the thought of speaking to magazine people. They were always so probing… something inhuman about them made him want to gag. Quickly, he slid sideways down the wall, his hand finding the handle to open the sliding glass doors onto the room's balcony.

The night was chilly: it was early September, and the gray drizzle that plagued London to no end hung over everything. Save for a single man passed out drunk at one of the tables, the balcony was empty. Automatically he fished into his pocket for his pack of fags and his lighter, bringing the burning cigarette happily to his lips and inhaling the sweet smoke. He'd been trying to discipline himself into quitting, but he had no heart to do so, especially not now, when it was the only thing that kept him relaxed. He leaned over the railing and watched tiny automobiles slide by on the streets far below, watched the glow of tiny red phone booths as people stopped to call loved ones. The smoke trailed softly from the glowing end of his cigarette.

_Jump._

The voice in his head startled him, and he jerked with surprised before he managed to regain his composure. His cigarette had dropped from his hand, and he watched it fall down, becoming invisible as it fell away from him, a tiny shard of light that disappeared and shrank into nothing.

_Jump. _

The voice was not his own internal, but a deep, eerie voice, penetrating and unwelcome, as though his mind was being watched by an unwanted visitor. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the railing as he fought against the tide of a migraine that was setting in behind his eyes. It was a tight had clutching his brain, a deep bloody trench carved into his consciousness…

"Stuart!"

His head snapped up from his chest and he looked forward, only to be greeted by the image of the open air. He could feel himself wobbling, and confusion flooded him when he realized that he was perched precariously on the railing, legs tensed to jump. With a yelp, he tumbled backward, landing hard on his back on the cement balcony. Faces swam above him… Marcello and some unfamiliar faces with the distinct soullessness of magazine people.

"Hello…" was all that he could manage to get out. The faces above him reeled for a moment before coming into focus, and he picked himself up from the floor. "Just doing a bit of balancing."

"This is Stuart Pot. Stuart, these are Marissa Sanchez and David Zimmer… they're representatives of Buttons magazine."

2D dutifully shook their hands. "It's lovely to meet you. I don't mean to be rude but… this isn't the best time for me." he fished one of his cards from his pocket and handed it to Marissa, who was the nearest. "You can call me on my mobile sometime in the afternoon and we can set something up." he nodded at them in farewell and ducked back into the party. In a matter of moments he made quick eye contact with a slender brunette by the buffet table, and she immediately sidled up to him, telling him that his plans for the night were set.

It wasn't until they were outside and headed for the brunette's (who happened to be named Claire) car that 2D spotted an empty pack of Lucky Lung cigarettes lying soggy in the gutter and completely lost his appetite for sex. A blackness flooded his stomach like poison, and he found himself apologizing and ducking into a cab. And later, as he unlocked the door to his flat and dropped his coat by the door, he wondered what exactly was wrong with him.

He had been right in assuming that Michelle would be gone; her belongings had disappeared and her key to the flat lay on the countertop with her share of the month's rent. It was more of a relief than a sadness that filled him, the lifting of a burden that had never really been satisfying in the first place. Her leaving had been eminent for months, and 2D wondered what had held the dead-end relationship up for so long.

In the bathroom, he washed the clumps of gel from his hair, restoring it to its usual array of uneven spikes. Even in the soft light of the bathroom, the ungainly shade of his hair (somewhere between its dyed blonde and his natural blue, faded after dyeing it blonde the day he left the band) was obvious. The blonde tinge in the azure locks was sickly yellow. His face was caked with makeup to keep his skin from shining under the harsh light of the runway, and he scraped it off, leaving his clean boyish face exposed and clean. He had stopped wearing the glass eyes months ago, white orbs with transparent blue irises and clear pupils to hide the two dents of his eyes, and without them, he looked eerie and hollow, the embodiment of the zombies on his television screen.

The living room was dark, and he switched on the lamps before checking the messages on his answering machine. There were a few calls from the modeling agency about his appointments for the week, his landlord informing him that the rent was past due, and a message that began with a rough, scratchy silence before any words were spoken.

"Er… D." _Pause_. "It's Murdoc. I… we…I don't know how to make this sound sane, but…. some weird shit's been happening lately… around Kong. I found Noodle… in a crate in the bunker… she'd been down there this entire time… and somehow she was _fine_. And there's been… it's just been weird. I can't explain it. It'd really help if you can back to Kong for a bit… helped us sort this out. I'll… see you later then, mate." _Click_.

Without missing a beat, 2D leaned down and pushed the _erase_ button on the machine, filled with satisfaction as the computerized voice declared "message erased". "Fuck _you_," he muttered to the machine. "If some shit's going on that you can't handle, you can just kiss my bloody arse and deal wif it." it felt good to say, even if Murdoc couldn't hear it. He had a beer, watched the news, and went to bed trying to shake the sound of Murdoc's voice from his mind.

**XXX**

_**There's a light**_

_**At the window**_

_**Burning clean into your shallow dream**_

_**There a melody**_

_**A ghost in the chambers**_

_**Breaking free of all that tethers me**_

_**Tell me when will I be alive again**_


	3. Murdoc

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**I feel so honored that so many people are interested in this story! I'll do my best not to disappoint anyone. Thanks everyone for your support of it!**

**Sorry this is a short chapter. I'll make up for it later, I swear.**

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The darkness was absolute, and Murdoc could feel it as certainly as if it was a thing that could be touched, a scarf wrapped around his face. Combined with the dust of the air, the musty, untouched odor of decay, the atmosphere made his senses itch. He wrapped his cloak a little closer around himself and continued forward, though the feeling around him was more than enough to make him want to recoil.

The darkness continued for what could have been several hundred yards or more, he had no concept of distance in the unchangeable darkness, and when a dim light finally illuminated his surroundings, a wave of shock flashed through his body. He was deep in the confines of Kong, near the hellhole, which stood a smoldering pit of cooled black hellfire, its smoke billowing silently upward toward the ceiling. The murky light was coming from the figure before him, tall and lanky, its limbs like willowy branches. It was naked, its skin black as charcoal, its hair matted and tangled. The light was a dull red, shining from the deep sockets of the creature's eyes. As it moved, its long arms swung incomprehensibly, as though there was no control over them. It moved like a wounded animal, predatory but pained, every step a struggle, and yet there was some semblance of human in it, and the combination frightened him, making him recoil as it neared him.

The creature collapsed, and Murdoc was struck with the fact that it was dead before it suddenly lifted itself up and began to crawl toward him, a disturbing wilted motion that made Murdoc move faster, but his back was to the wall, and the creature was bearing down on him for all its slowness, closing in on him. As it finally reached him, it grabbed the legs of his pants and drew itself up and stared at him from deep inside its head where the eerie light glowed coldly.

"Murdoc…" it croaked, and Murdoc jumped, struck by the familiar tone of that voice… the struggling, stuttering Cockney accent that produced his name in its signature way. "Help me…" there was something so chilling in those words, something that made Murdoc's hair stand up.

"2D…" the terror hit Murdoc full-on then, burning its way into the top of his head like a bolt of lightning and shooting down to the tips of his toes. His body felt weak. He felt like he was going to faint.

"How could you do this to me?" 2D moaned, his voice even more labored than usual. He clung with a death grip onto Murdoc's trousers, and he couldn't have gotten away if he tried. 2D's filthy blue hair was matted with blood and dirt and hung in his eyes, plastered to his forehead. His black skin did not manage to hide his characteristic face. A surge of revulsion hit Murdoc. This couldn't be 2D. This couldn't be real.

"2D… what the bloody fuck is going on!?" he managed to gasp. 2D gave a tiny spasm and closed his eyes for a moment.

"My soul… everything that… how could you do this to me?" tears streaked down 2D's ruined face, and Murdoc nearly vomited at the sight of something so normal sliding down skin that looked so grotesque. His arms had snaked themselves around Murdoc's knees, and the touch made him blanche.

"2D…" the broken vocalist lowered his head, and Murdoc reached out a shaking hand to touch the grimy hair, just to assure himself that it was real. 2D grabbed his arm, and looking back up at him, he opened his mouth to speak. Blood poured from his mouth and his body moved in a sudden jerk, spasming out of control and crumbling to the floor. The blood followed as well from his empty eye sockets, and as the tears of blood poured down his face, Murdoc could have sworn he looked up at him, looking shaken at the deafening and terrified scream that was coming from Murdoc's mouth.

He was still screaming when he sat up in bed.

Trembling, Murdoc wiped the sweat from his forehead. It clung there in huge amounts, and the rest of his body was completely soaked in sweat as well. He switched on the lamp beside his bed, still trying to shake the images from the dream out of his head. As the light flooded the Winnebago, he could feel some of the terror draining away, until he looked down at himself and saw that it wasn't sweat he was covered in.

It was blood.

Blood was pooled in the bed, enough of it to have not yet soaked into the sheets, making a puddle in the dip where he had been lying. Murdoc didn't scream. He wouldn't. He had never screamed at a dream before, and he certainly wasn't going to scream over this. As calmly as he could, Murdoc climbed out of bed and stripped off his clothes, down to his leopard-print underwear. He was smeared with blood underneath his clothes, but couldn't see any sources of the bleeding. He felt no pain, found no injuries, and was trying to calm down completely when he heard the door slam.

"Murdoc?" Noodle was still wearing her pajamas, and she looked very small standing in the doorway, holding the baseball bat she routinely used in zombie attacks. "I heard you screaming. Are you alright?"

"Noodle." Murdoc had never been happier to see someone, and the relief seeped into him like a warm liquid. "Come in. I'm fine. Just fine."

"What's wrong?"

Murdoc shook his head. "Nothing. I… would ye' mind coming with me to check something?"

Five minutes later in the room housing the hellhole, Murdoc, now redressed in clean clothes, looked around for signs of anything unusual by the light of the hellhole. Noodle stood near him with a flashlight, looking solemn as he checked every inch of the room. Finding nothing abnormal, he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Well, nothing's here. Ye' probably think I'm some kind of fucking lunatic now, eh, forcing you to look around in the hellhole in the middle of the night?"

Noodle shook her head gravely. Her face looked eerie in the orange glow of the hellhole. "No, Murdoc. Not at all." she paused, looking thoughtfully toward the glowing hole before she continued. "I had the same dream."

**XXX**

Murdoc tried to keep himself calm as he made tea shakily. Noodle stood beside him, watching him thoughtfully as he worked.

"So… you had the dream where the hellhole was dead… and 2D was clawing at ye'… and he looked… like a fucking mutant…" Murdoc dropped the teapot, and the metal clanged against the sink. Noodle took it from him and refilled it, placing it on the waiting stove burner.

"Yes… but it was not me with 2D, it was you. I was as though I were watching it happen from the outside… merely a spectator. She fished the sugar cubes out from the cupboard and placed them on the counter.

Murdoc dropped the box of tea bags as he tried to grab them. "Fucking hell!" he snapped, and then leaned against the counter, running a hand over his face and trying to regain his composure. Noodle retrieved them and placed them with the sugar cubes. "So… did ye' wake up covered in blood, too then?"

Noodle shook her head. "No. But I am sure there's a reason why-"

"What reason could there be for me waking up covered in fucking _blood_? And not mine, either, that much I'm sure of. Sweet Satan, this whole thing's getting out of fucking control." he clamped a hand over his eyes for a moment, and when he looked up, Noodle looked concerned.

"Murdoc, it will be alright. But we cannot afford to panic, alright. I'm sure we'll understand this in time."

Murdoc nodded, deciding that it was easier not to argue. He turned and looked out the window rubbing a hand distractedly over his hair.

Over the dark graveyard, a gentle rain was falling.


End file.
